


Foreign Particle

by kbcf55



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, POV First Person, Psychology, Romance, Self-Insert, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 12:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30022104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbcf55/pseuds/kbcf55
Summary: A love story with some details of day-to-day life.Thorin takes under his wing a pretty young woman from our world. He soon finds out that there plenty of things one can do with a woman.This story will a happy ending for everyone except Azog (he dies) and Dain Ironfoot (he does not become a king of Erebor).
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter One, in which I appear naked on a party and mortify the host

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my dear husband for his love, support and understanding.
> 
> This is a translation. Russian original can be found here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/1097290

I woke up to the mouthwatering smell of fried potatoes. The kind of smell that could wake the dead.For a few seconds I lay still with my eyes shut, enjoying the peace and quiet. And also gathering my strength. Because I was about to find out just how badly my body was mangled.

I never lied to myself. To others – sure, all the time. But never to myself. I knew perfectly well that my life could never be the same again.

Well, no time like the present! But why would a hospital smell like that?

Taking a deep breath and noticing that my ribs did not hurt at all, I slowly opened my eyes.

The warm beige ceiling above me was arched and neatly plastered. At the center hung a wrought iron chandelier. It held candles instead of lightbulbs.

I shut my eyes again in fear. That was not a hospital! What was I doing here?

I remembered everything. Before and after the visions started.

My friend and I were in a… Right, here it was, the head injury. Why else would I struggle to remember the right word? The word that meant a fast four-wheeled carriage.

I clenched my fist instinctively and felt the soft carpet under my fingers. I was lying on a floor. In an unfamiliar house. But I could still feel my hands, so my injuries were probably less severe than I would have expected.

What about my legs? I tried to wiggle my foot. And it obeyed! Yes, I was on a floor in a strange house, but who cared? I was alive!

Overjoyed, I opened my eyes once again. And saw a man.

He was sitting on a chair at the head of a table just a few steps away, turned half-way towards me with his head cocked to the side and looking at me in surprise, his eyes gleaming in the shadowed room.

He was neither young nor old. I couldn’t tell his age. He wasn’t handsome but neither would I call him ugly. He was the oddest man I had ever seen.

I thought that he must be another vision.

Right after the impact it was as if the time had slowed and the space itself twisted around me. I fell face-down, but instead of hitting something solid I went right through it, like through a jelly pudding, and continued falling.

I remembered the stars passing me by. They were bigger and brighter than usual. I remembered trying to take a breath, but there was no air. Then some invisible force grabbed and spun me around, like a splinter inside of a whirlpool. And then I passed out.

Now here I was: arched ceiling, candles, and the strange man.

He shifted. A lock of dark wavy hair fell away from his wide ear. He wasn’t alone. Other people were sitting on both sides of the table. But they, engaged in conversation, didn’t notice me.

The stranger curiously glanced at my body, and I felt goosebumps erupt all over me. In this vision I was naked.

Abruptly my whole body tensed up like a coiled spring. I gasped and sat up, bringing my knees to my chest.

The sound and the movement finally attracted everyone’s attention.

I wasn’t particularly scared. I still thought none of this was real. But I did feel a bit uncomfortable. Why couldn’t this vision give me waist-length flowing hair? It would have at least covered my naked shoulders.

The strangers, on the other hand, were really spooked.

One of them, huge and bald-headed, with a wolf’s pelt around his shoulders, jumped, screamed “By Durin’s beard!” and pointed a knife at me. Where did it come from, I had no idea.

Another one, thin and spry, wearing a shaggy hat, startled and dropped his smoking pipe. The tobacco he had been carefully stuffing inside spilled all over the floor.

But after taking a good look at me, the men relaxed and sat back down.

“What was that?” said someone from the other end of the table. “What happened over there?”

“Just some naked wench!” the bald one grumbled, sliding the knife into his sleeve. “Must be the hobbit’s.”

A roar of laughter was followed by the scrape of wooden benches against the floor. People at the far end of the table were getting up to get a good look at me.

“Guess our host isn’t as shy as he seems!” someone young and loud yelled cheerfully. “Mayhaps mister Gandalf is right, and he’s a good burglar as well?”

Now there were about a dozen men staring at me through the dark round corridor where the table stood.

“Why’s he letting her run around naked?” someone older griped. “Has he no shame at all?”

I was still sitting on the floor trying to cover myself, having no idea what to do next. One of the men finally got the hint.

“There’s something wrong with the girl, Thorin.” That was a small gray-haired older man.

“I can see that,” the dark-haired one replied and got up from his chair.

Everyone immediately turned to him. He hesitated for a moment, seemingly considering his options. Then he took a step towards me.

The bald one intervened. He grabbed the stranger’s shoulder and muttered: “Don’t, Thorin. Balin is right, she’s weird. Let the wizard sort this out!”

I noticed that he was gripping his knife again. Could this tall strong man really consider me a threat?

But the one he was trying to stop didn’t heed the warning.

“She’s just a woman, Dwalin. Just a woman. Whoever she may be.”

I liked his voice. It was strong, calm and deep. The man pronounced familiar words in an odd manner. His vowel were elongated and his consonants were gently rumbling.

How could a vision be so life-like?

He approached and stopped right next to me. Undoing the clasp on his wide belt he took off his cloak – revealing real armor underneath! – and threw it over my shoulders. I was immediately surrounded both by thick cloth and by the smell of strong tobacco. But I wasn’t about to complain, and gratefully snatched the edge of the cloak.

“Who are you with? What happened to you?”

This close I could see some tell-tale signs of age. The black mane of his hair had some silver streaks in it, and there were fine crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked again.

Instead of answering, the only sound I could produce was a wheeze. Turns out I wasn’t so fearless after all.

The man turned to the table and snapped: “Kili, get Gandalf, now!”

But before the man called Kili could obey, someone said in a loud clear voice: “He’s coming already. Bringing the master of the house with him.” Then he added after a small pause: “Pretty sure the hobbit’s gonna faint again!"

***

I never lied to myself. And I wasn’t happy to have kept my life anymore.

All of this was a trick of my mind. In all likelihood, I was lying paralyzed in a hospital bed, either suffering from brain damage or under the influence of strong drugs.

I pressed my hands to my face, letting go of the cloak, which slipped off my shoulders immediately.

The men – all apart from the dark-haired stranger – sat back at the table, although they were still staring at me with suspicion. As if I would suddenly attack like a rabid dog. I couldn’t care less about them, or the ones that were coming.

Stunned by my realization and dismayed, I looked around in all directions, peering at the walls and the ceiling, the ornate etagere with all sorts of knick-knacks on it,

footrests, books that covered every surface, painted porcelain plates in the cupboard.

In the meantime, the atmosphere was getting increasingly tense. Then some new faces appeared.

Two people were hastily walking toward me through a side corridor. A small man with curly hair and an elderly man who was so tall he had to stoop to avoid banging his head against the arch.

The moment he laid eyes on me, the smaller man started wringing his hands hysterically and shaking his tiny fists at me.

“What is she doing in my house?!” he yelled, turning to the old man. “Why is she looking like this?! Gandalf, you will be the death of me!”

“Dear Bilbo, I assure you I had nothing to do with this,” the man replied calmly.

Stepping into the room, he straightened up – the top of his head brushed against the ceiling – and was now examining me thoughtfully from under his bushy eyebrows.

“So it’s you? It’s you?!” the curly-haired man turned around and pointed at the men who were watching the scene silently.

“Woah, what do we have to do with this? We thought she’s yours!”

“You raided my pantry, you ruined my waterpipes!” the man carried on in agitation. “And now you brought a woman here!”

The men grumbled in displeasure.

“Mister Baggins!” snarled the black-haired one. “Your insinuations…”

But he had already turned back to me.

“Now, lady, it’s time for you to go! Put your clothes on and leave! This is a respectable house!”

I couldn’t believe my ears. He was kicking me out?

“Bilbo, that’s enough!” the tall old man commanded suddenly.

The response was immediate. Everyone fell silent all at once. The curly-haired man also froze on the spot with his mouth open. The hardwood floor gave a plaintive creak in the resulting quiet as the old man heavily stepped around the curly-haired man and leaned over me.

He looked me right in the eye and I startled when I met his bright, inquisitive, intelligent eyes.

For a single moment a spark of doubt flared in my muddled mind before immediately fading. What I thought about wasn’t possible. The old man smiled before addressing everyone around.

“Look at her carefully, you fools, and tell me what you see.”

He then threw back the edge of the cloak, baring my legs and feet. The curly-haired man gasped.

“She’s not a hobbit!” he exclaimed.

His anger dissipated without a trace. He warily stepped closer, and I thought his long-nosed curious face resembled that of a small animal.

I was about to throw up. The small man had disproportionally large ears and feet. How could I make up something like this?

The old man covered me with the cloak once again, then gripped my head with both hands, clicked his tongue at me reproachfully when I tried to twist away, and forced me to turn my side to the table. Still holding my head steadily with one hand, he gathered my hair with the other hand and lifted it, baring my ear and part of my neck for everyone to see.

Being manhandled by this odd man, feeling the warmth of his hands and the smell of his clothes, being unable to change anything – I was completely lost.

The men looking at me seemed baffled.

“That’s impossible,” whispered the dark-haired man, looking as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

“That’s…” someone from the other end of the table started uncertainly.

“A human!” the spry man in a hat finished. “A human woman! But she’s so small.”

“Human…”

“Yes, she’s human…”

“A tiny human…”

Surprised mutters could be heard from all sides. Someone smiled, someone rubbed their eyes. But many faces were still wary. The big bald guy pursed his lips and exchanged a worried look with the white-haired old man.

“There aren’t any small humans!” he proclaimed loudly. His knife was still on the table, within easy reach.

“In our world, there aren’t,” the man everyone was calling Gandalf agreed easily. “But in other worlds, which other Creators brought to life, things can be very different.”

“You mean…” the dark-haired man started carefully.

“Yes, Thorin, that is exactly what I mean.”

“Wizardry?” the bald one snarled.

“No, Dwalin, merely happenstance. The worlds collide sometimes. If, at the moment of the impact, you happen to cross the border which can’t be seen by the naked eye, you end up in another world without even realizing it.”

The old man let go of me, stretching his stiff shoulders.

“This occurrence is extremely rare. The poor thing simply had a bad stroke of luck,” he concluded.

***

The men stood up from the table and surrounded me. There were a lot of them. Young and old, tall and short, with dark, red and fair hair, stocky and thin – they were a motley crew.

I gripped the cloak tightly until my fingers were white. But it didn’t seem like the men were about to harm me. They just stared at me in wonder, as if I were an exotic fish in a fisherman’s net or an oddly colored horse.

“Looks pretty young,” one of them drawled.

“Can you hear me?” another one asked. He seemed easily amused, had a peculiar hairdo, and his beard had three braids in it. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded emphatically, still unable to find my voice.

“She nodded!” the man exclaimed, as if the exotic fish had asked him the time or the horse started dancing.

“She nodded?” the tall old man with bright eyes leaned over me again. “Do you understand? Can you speak?”

“Yes,” I croaked.

“She understands!” the old man seemed amazed. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

I nodded again. I wasn’t going to forget that any time soon!

My friend and I were in a… Doesn’t matter. She was driving, I was sitting next to her. Another carriage suddenly appeared in front of us. I didn’t have the safety belt on – it’s a miracle I was alive at all!

“Do you know where you are?” the old man asked.

I shrugged. Finding out seemed like a good idea.

“Our world is called Arda. We are in the Shire, the land of hobbits, in the village known as Hobbiton. This is the house of mister Baggins, esquire.”

The curly-haired man jumped at once and gave me a courteous bow. At least he didn’t try to click the soles of his feet together. 

“Mister Baggins at you service, miss. This is my house you have dropped… fell… appeared in.”

“And these fine gentlemen are the guests of mister Baggins.”

The fine gentlemen inclined their heads at once. I thought I heard the host sigh at the word “guests”.

“Where are you from?”

I looked around one more time. At the wooden furniture, candles, carpets, oakwood paneling on the walls. I looked carefully at the men around me, at the old man, at the master of the house. I spent a bit more time looking at the dark-haired man; he lifted an eyebrow questioningly. I touched the cloak he gave me, sniffed it, briefly considered licking it but resisted the urge.

I never lied to myself. None of this was true. But it was a nice fantasy. Positively intriguing.

I was almost definitely lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

Once I woke up, my life would never be the same again. Many things I loved would be lost to me forever.

And here a whole new world was in front of me. The smells, the colors, the sounds. And so, I made a decision.

“Earth. My planet is called Earth,” from the outside my voice probably sounded firm and certain. But the words I said seemed almost foreign to me.

“Earth? That’s it?”

“Yes, Earth.” I tried to recall anything from my school lessons. “In the Solar System.”

The old man frowned.

“Never heard of it. But again, there are many different worlds.”

The dark-haired man shook his head in disbelief and folded his arms.

“Let’s say you are right, wizard,” he addressed the old man coolly. “What now?” 

“Now? I believe we should offer her some clothes. Bilbo,” he looked at the curly-haired man, “do you have anything for the lady?”

“Something of my mother’s should fit,” was the cordial reply. Upon hearing that I came from another world, he quickly transformed into a gracious host. “Right this way, miss.”

I slowly stood up on shaking legs, clutching the cloak. To the men’s credit, they turned their gazed downwards all at once. The dark-haired man even managed to offer me a hand without looking up. And so I hastily followed the host, my bare feet slapping against the floor. The man, on the other hand, was walking softly and quietly, like a cat.


	2. Chapter Two, in which my view of the universe is turned upside down in a single evening

The big-footed master of the house led me through several corridors, which resembled tunnels more than anything, and a few rooms with arched ceilings. Then he stopped and took a candle from a holder on the wall. 

“Please make yourself at home,” he mumbled amiably, opening a silly-looking round door. 

Behind the door was a small bedroom, most of which was occupied by a fireplace – currently unlit – and a bulky four-poster bed with a canopy. Mister Baggins left to fetch me the promised clothing, and, alone in the room for a moment, I put the candle on a bedside table and tried to organize my thoughts. 

It all looked so real! 

I touched an embroidered blanket, opened a wardrobe, peeked behind another round door. It led to a luxurious bathroom with an enormous tub and a porcelain water closet. 

The bedroom had a round window. Out of curiosity I went to it and pushed aside the curtain. Behind the window was the night sky, glittering with stars, and dark silhouettes of hills here and there, some of which also had round windows glowing from inside. 

It was so convincing! As if I really was in the middle of a strange village! 

Obviously, I hadn’t believed a single word the old man had said about other worlds. And I had good reasons. The most obvious of them was speech. The visions and I spoke the same language. My language. It proved that I had made all of this up. Even if the other worlds really existed, even if I somehow stumbled into one of them, its inhabitants and I wouldn’t be able to understand each other. 

Of course, it was perplexing that I knew what was happening despite my altered mental state. But I never experienced visions before, never tried any illegal substances, so I had no frame of reference. 

I sat down on the bed, trying not to shiver. Knowing the truth but being helpless to change anything was scary. I would have preferred to go completely mad, unable to separate fact from fiction. 

There came a knock at the door. Opening it a crack and hiding behind it, I accepted a bundle of clothes from mister Baggins and handed him the cloak I had been wearing. 

The bundle consisted of a lacy chemise and a colorful dressing gown. I had to wrap it around me several times and then tighten the belt, because mister Baggins’ mother had evidently been trice thicker around the middle than I was. And I wasn’t exactly a petite woman. 

He hadn’t brought me any shoes. Perhaps there weren’t any, considering that he went around barefoot. 

After I finished getting dressed, I approached a mirror hung between a wall and the window. I didn’t look any different. Exactly the same as I had looked this morning, when I left the house. Smooth skin, no scratches, no blood, like there hadn’t been an accident. Although, this wasn’t a real mirror. 

I sighed and glanced at the window again. Its existence was yet another proof of my madness. Who on earth would order a round window when a square one is both cheaper and easier to make!

*** 

I barely had the time to look away from the mirror before there was another knock at the door. I expected to see mister Baggins again, but it was the tall old man. He squeezed through the doorway without waiting for an invitation and closed the door behind him. 

“We need to talk,” he announced. “Here no one will disturb us.” 

He looked around for a chair, found none, and sat right on the bed, almost knocking the canopy off with his head. 

“I hope you don’t mind. These hobbit houses are so small, I can barely fit!” 

I said nothing. I still couldn’t get used to the fact that my imaginary people behaved just like real ones. They walked around, talked, had their own opinions, and sometimes seemed smarter than me, their creator. 

Silence stretched out. The old man looked at me suspiciously and noted: “You don’t seem particularly frightened! I expected a fit of nerves or a fainting spell. But you look unperturbed!” 

“That’s not true!” I objected and showed him my trembling hands. 

“Now that’s more like it,” he grunted with satisfaction and asked: “You do want to return home, right?” 

What could he mean by that? Did I want to wake up? 

“Tell me,” I said, and the old man did just that. 

“To the east, beyond the land of men and Wilderland, lies Rivendell, the valley of the elves,” he said. “You could never make it there by yourself. But, luckily for you, the party of Thorin Oakenshield…” 

Thorin. That was the name of the dark-haired stranger. The others were apparently his party. 

“…who you have already had the honor of meeting, sets on a journey tomorrow, and their path would take them right past the valley, if not for the pride and stubbornness of their leader.” 

The old man paused, gave me a significant look, and offered: “Convince Thorin to offer you protection and accompany you to Rivendell. In exchange I will ask the elven king to return you home. Master Elrond is the only one in Middle-earth who can open the pathways between worlds. He also happens to be my old friend.” 

I considered this. The old man’s offer made me wary. I didn’t have anything against the dark-haired man; on the contrary, he had been kind and considerate towards me. And now I was expected to scheme against him behind his back. But on the other hand, my mental well-being was at stake. I needed to find out more. 

“What’s in it for you?” I asked. 

“I need Thorin to visit Rivendell,” the old man replied, putting emphasis on the word need. “Otherwise, this entire campaign is doomed, and I want to see it succeed. But the fool won’t hear a word of it!” 

I laughed. “You expect me to convince a man I have only met half an hour ago to go somewhere he most definitely doesn’t want to go? After you yourself failed to persuade him?” 

“My failure means nothing!” he disagreed. “Dwarves rarely trust wizards. You, on the other hand…” 

“Hang on,” I interrupted him. “What did you call them?” 

“Dwarves. You didn’t know? Do the dwarves of your world look different?” 

“So, they’re not human?” I repeated stupidly. 

“No,” the old man smiled. “Make sure you don’t call them that. They will take offence. Too proud.” 

I was shocked by the sudden appearance of elves and dwarves in my imaginary world. Where did they come from? I had never been particularly interested in this kind of books or… another word I couldn’t recall… moving pictures. 

“And that small guy, with curly hair?” I asked apprehensively. “He’s human, right?” 

“He is a hobbit.” 

“And you?” 

“No, child. I am a wizard, a spirit of this world.” 

What a weird group! I nervously hugged myself and sat down on the edge of the bed. And then it occurred to me. 

“So what, I’m the only human here?” 

“Well, I would hesitate to call you human…” the wizard started, then took one look at my face, and immediately tried to reassure me: “…although you are certainly a human-like creature.” 

For a few seconds I sat still, looking at the starry sky through the window, before resting my hands in my lap. My own vision had no place for me, no name for my species! 

The old man realized that his words had stunned me, and explained: “It’s just that our humans look different. They are tall and slim, not unlike the elves. Less beautiful, perhaps.” 

Even better! My own vision calling me short and fat! I hadn’t seen a single elf yet, and I already didn’t like them. 

“But you can use that to your advantage,” the wizard continued enthusiastically. “A dwarf will think you are closer to his own species than to humans. Use that! Dwarven women are rare, and so they are treasured and protected. Make them think that you are the same. Every dwarf is a warrior and protector at heart, you just need to find the right approach.” 

“And how exactly do you expect me to approach Thorin?” I asked skeptically. 

“Oh, that’s easy!” the old man waved his gray-clad arm through the air. “Just appeal to his noble nature. Ask for help tearfully. You should know better than me – just use your feminine wiles!” 

“You really think that a man will do anything as soon as a girl starts crying?” I snorted. 

Some will, perhaps, but I had never met one. Or maybe I just wasn’t the right sort of woman? 

“Child, Thorin is famously stubborn, but he is neither mean nor cruel,” the wizard sighed. “And he is capable of great generosity, which is rare for a dwarf. Besides, he had suffered a great deal in his life. He knows what it’s like, to lose everything in an instant.” 

The old man got up and carefully pushed the canopy away. 

“So, we have a deal,” he surmised. “You help me, and I will help you.” 

“I’ll try,” I said doubtfully. “But what will happen to me if I fail?” 

“I’ll leave you in Bree. You can work at the Prancing Pony and spend the rest of your life serving beer and fried pork ribs to drunken hobbits. Is that what you want?” 

The wizard bent almost double to fit through the doorway, and then I asked a question that made him stop. 

“Mister Gandalf, why does Thorin hate elves?” 

He hesitated, as though it was an inconvenient question, but then finally replied: “A long time ago on of the elven kings betrayed his father and his grandfather.” 

So that’s what the problem was. Betrayal. No one forgives that! Now I was convinced that my mission was hopeless. Perhaps that was why the old man stopped once again, turned back to me, raised his finger, and said: “Know that Thorin will get to Rivendell with or without you. Because he must! But for your own sake you should be with him.” 

“If he will get there anyway,” I shouted at the closing door, “then why do you need me?” 

The door opened once again. 

“Because I believe that everything happens for a reason!” 

Good talk. 

*** 

After I exited the room, I saw Bilbo waiting for me in the corridor. I wasn’t about to go running straight to Thorin and beg him to take me along on some journey or whatever. I wanted to have fun. Then we would see. 

“Mister Baggins, you wouldn’t happen to have any booze? I’ve had quite a day.” 

He didn’t seem surprised. “Let’s join the others, miss. They’ve been waiting to meet you properly. Then I’ll see if there’s any wine left in the pantry.” 

Then the hobbit… What a weird word. The hobbit led me thought the labyrinthine tunnels back to the room where I first woke up. As we passed one of the arches, I heard Thorin’s dispassionate voice. 

“I thought it was your job to protect humans, wizard.” 

Gandalf’s voice replied: “Only those that were born to this world.” 

They were discussing me. But I didn’t care much about what would happen to me, and neither was I really interested in Gandalf’s offer. 

Firstly, I wasn’t sure what he meant when he mentioned returning me home. Perhaps it would be another vision. Even crazier than this one. Secondly, all of this was just a dream! Nothing bad was going to happen to me. I could work at the local tavern, no problem. It was better than going to some valley or other with a group of men who needed to be convinced to go there in the first place. 

But no matter how hard I tried to keep my spirits up, the moment I faced the dwarves I once again felt embarrassed. This time they didn’t jump to their feet, just fell silent and stared at me. 

The dwarves were sat at the same table in the shadowed corridor lit only by a few candles in clay saucers. I noticed that, besides Thorin, the small white-haired old man was also missing. Presumably, the wizard also wanted to consult him. The dwarves were passing around a large flask, each taking a big swig. 

“We’re celebrating your arrival!” the spry man in a hat announced cheerfully, saluting me with the flask and passing it along. “Sit with us, don’t be scared!” He indicated a spot at the bench. I tentatively sat down next to him and immediately was confronted by everyone’s curious stares. 

“She doesn’t look too bad,” smirked one of the men, important-looking, sporting a thick red beard with rings in it. “There are some pretty human women after all!” 

The rest of them laughed. “You better hope your wife doesn’t hear you say that!” 

I looked away in embarrassment and realized that Bilbo had left. Probably went looking for that wine. The hobbit was friendly enough. I found it easy to talk to him. But these dwarves… What was I to do? I probably needed to say something. Greet them? Or introduce myself first? My neighbor in a hat helped me out once again. 

“We haven’t been introduced,” he said. “My name’s Bofur.” 

I told him mine in response, and the dwarves seemed bewildered. 

“What?” 

“That’s not a name!” the big bald guy said in a deep voice. “No-one would name a child that!” 

I spelled it out several times. For some reason, my imaginary acquaintances found it terribly hard to pronounce one of the most common female names in the world. Then they introduced themselves in turn. It was hopeless. All the names sounded weird to me, and many of them were similar as well. I could remember almost none of them, so I just smiled and nodded my head.

I had no idea how I could have mistaken them for humans. The dwarves were all sturdy and heavy-set. Their faces were rough and almost savage, their ears twice as wide as a human’s. Most of these men looked wild and scary to my eye. But there were some exceptions. 

At the far end of the table sat a tall, fair young man with a small dapper beard and a moustache braided in a complicated pattern. He looked very handsome, and even his long narrow nose worked in his favor. When he noticed me looking, he gave me a sly wink. 

I turned my eyes to the young man next to him, and he blushed so hard it was obvious even in the dim light. The man looked very young, and he was the only one at the table who hadn’t grown a beard yet. His dark curly hair fell down to his shoulders, free of clasps and fanciful braids other dwarves sported.

  
“Fili,” the fair-haired handsome man introduced himself playfully once it was his turn. The silver clasps at the ends of his moustache twitched mischievously, drawing attention to his mouth. “And this is my brother.” 

He elbowed the dark-haired man next to him. He slowly looked up at me with his big brown eyes. 

“His name is Kili, and he’s the best archer in this party,” the blond proclaimed, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “He can hit any target at two hundred yards!” 

I put one elbow on the table, propped my chin in the palm of my hand, and gave the sharpshooter a sweet smile, which embarrassed him even further. 

What a nice boy. Perhaps this journey wasn’t such a terrible idea. But where was Bilbo with his wine? 

While I was distracted, the flask that had been making its rounds finally approached me. I reached for it. 

“That stuff is very strong! I don’t think you should try it,” my neighbor laughed. I scowled at him – it was my vision, I could do whatever I wanted! – and grabbed the flask. Then, before anyone could stop me, I exhaled and took a swig. 

It felt as if someone had skinned me alive. Then threw what remained of me into a boiling pot. My throat was scalded, my eyes immediately filled with tears. Bofur took the flask from me – I wasn’t about to fight him – and passed it along. While I tried to surreptitiously wipe my face with the sleeve of the dressing gown, the dwarves laughed so uproariously I though the walls of the house might crack. 

“She’s nuts!” 

“Miss!” the hobbit squeaked from behind my shoulder. “There was no wine in the pantry, I had to get some from the cellar!” 

His timing was superb. I grabbed the glass he offered and downed it to quench the fire burning in my throat. 

The laughter grew louder. Hobbit glared at the dwarves disapprovingly and leaned over me in concern. 

“Is everything alright? What did they do? You don’t look so well!” 

“Mister Baggins,” I croaked, fanning myself with my hands. “You wine is amazing. Can I have the whole bottle?” 

“The whole barrel, you mean?” he gave the dwarves another dirty look, as if holding them responsible for my indecent behavior. 

The dwarves were still roaring with mirth. Though the big bald man reached across the table and punched Bofur in the shoulder. “You should take better care of that girl! She’ll get smashed!” 

“Hey, beautiful!” someone shouted from the other end of the table. “Is everyone in your world so feisty?” 

I laid my hands on the table and leaned forward, feeling my blood quicken. I didn’t care anymore what anyone would think of me. “Guys,” I addressed them condescendingly. “Don’t believe a word that crook says. There are no other worlds!” 

They started grinning, looking at something behind me. I turned around. Naturally, the crook was standing right behind me. Thorin was nowhere to be seen. 

“Go on,” Gandalf suggested calmly, ignoring the giggles from the table. “Why are you convinced that other worlds don’t exist?” 

I boldly stared him right in the eye. A glass of wine and a swig of moonshine on an empty stomach made me fearless. 

“Our scientists went up there!” I pointed at the ceiling, indicating the sky. “And they found no other life!” 

“Your men of science searched the entire universe?” 

I let my eyelids drop, conceding this point. Obviously, there was no use in trying to convince a figment of my imagination that he was, in fact, imaginary. But I was tired of pretending and playing their games. Besides, he was a worthy opponent. Even if he wasn’t real. 

“Your world doesn’t exist,” I said softly but firmly. “I’m lying unconscious in a hospital bed and dreaming.” 

Suddenly there was an uncomfortable silence at the table. 

“It’s obvious. All of you are speaking my native language!” 

“Child, we are using Common Speech of Middle-earth,” Gandalf said heavily. “It cannot be your mother tongue.” 

Common Speech! As if! I opened my mouth, intending to recite the first poem that came to my mind, an easy one I had learned in school many years ago. I took a breath… and froze. I couldn’t find the words. They were flitting around in my head like butterflies, simple and familiar, but refusing to form any rhymes. 

Alright. I could try something easier. A simple song from my childhood, everyone knew that one. My mind went blank. I remembered the melody, remembered singing it on New Year’s Eve, but for the life of mine I couldn’t repeat a single line. 

Those words were foreign to me. The old man was right. 

I looked at Gandalf in consternation; there were too many coincidences, too many things I couldn’t find an explanation for. Then I jumped to my feet. I had to test this. I had to! 

Slipping past the wizard, I ran through the corridor towards the small room where I had woken up. There, on a small etagere, among the books, knick-knacks, and dry flowers, was a glass vial. I had noticed it before, when I sat on the floor, looking around the room. 

The vial smashed against the wall, breaking into a million pieces. The fragrant oil within splattered all over the etagere and spilled on the floor, almost staining the carpet. Belatedly, it occurred to me that mister Baggins probably wasn’t going to forgive me for that. 

No one was trying to stop me. Either they didn’t realize what I was going to do, or they were dumbfounded by my sudden alacrity. Or they simply didn’t care. 

Before anyone could react, I grabbed a glass shard. I had to find out! 

Later, much, much later, I would use my own hot-headedness and the alcohol in my blood as an excuse for my actions. On reflection, there was no further need for any tests. I had walked around the house. I talked to its inhabitants, touched their belongings, drank Bilbo’s wine. What other proof could I need? But at that moment, stunned by Gandalf’s words, confused, unsure if I could trust myself, I could see only one way to check if my body was real – try to harm it. 

The sharp glass easily sliced through the delicate skin of my wrist, spilling hot red blood. I pressed my lips to the cut and started crying. 

But not because it hurt. 

I was alone! All alone! No family, no friends, no one to help me. 

And I was stuck in a strange, alien world. No one here cared for me. I wasn’t even human here! 

I doubled over, pressing my wounded arm to my stomach with a groan. Why me? What had I done to deserve this? Maybe this wasn’t real after all? Maybe I imagined it? Let it be my imagination, I prayed… Let me take a look at my hand and see it unharmed. But, of course, the cut was still there. 

I raised my wrist again and watched with detachment as the blood trickled down my nails and fingers and dripped to the floor. 

The dwarves were thrown into turmoil. They scrambled to their feet, trying to bring me to my senses. But it was too late. 

Dark spots danced across my vision, and my knees grew weak. There was a ringing sound echoing in my ears like an alarm bell. I dropped the glass shard and tried to find purchase on the wall but succeeded only in leaving a red smear on it. 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gandalf rush towards me. But it was someone else’s hand, clad in leather, that caught me around my waist and pressed me against someone’s firm shoulder. Another hand grabbed my injured wrist and squeezed it tightly, trying to stop the bleeding. 

As I was losing consciousness, floating at the edge of darkness, I felt the smellof tobacco and the brush of soft hair against my cheek. “Mister Baggins!” came the dispassionate voice that I would have recognized anywhere. “Would you be so kind to fetch a towel?” 


End file.
